The Beauty and the Boulder
by MisterMitty
Summary: Inspired by a very exciting photo.
1. Chapter 1

Apart from a few crickets singing to their mates, the night was a quiet one. Oliver walked slowly, following the sidewalk out of habit. Dragging soundlessly behind him, attached firmly to his mind and heart, was a decision to be made. Being a man who enjoyed the etymology of words, this night he dined slowly on the word "trudge: to walk the measured, sometimes heavy steps of purpose; to move under harsh conditions". Truth be told, the night was not harsh.

But.

Having been blindsided by desire once before, it was the decision following him that may or may not be punitive.

Oliver stopped suddenly, blinking surprise. And then smiled. His feet, regardless of the decision, had found their way to the sidewalk outside Shane's house. All of the lights were out and for a moment he toyed with the idea of sitting on their porch swing. Prudence intervened, pointing out that the decision would be easily swayed by the perspective of the swing that had been the source of so many happy memories. Turning away, he resumed the trudging steps of purpose.

Many minutes later, the two lights always shining at the entrance to his church pierced the darkness to welcome him. As expected, the heavy oak door was unlocked and he let himself into the foyer. The foyer had one ceiling light and it showed him that the double doors to the sanctuary were open. After taking a deep breath, he stepped into the dim sanctuary. The light from the foyer was enough to show him the aisle and he made his way to the altar at the front. On a small stand next to the altar was a decorative navy blue pot with several inches of leafy green stem rising out of its potting soil. Oliver looked at the plant curiously, not having seen it before, then carefully found his knees.

Man sees dimly, angels do not. What seemed dim to Oliver was clear as day to the friends who waited for him. The sanctuary of the church was filled with light from half a dozen sources. The brightest came from Jordan Marley where he stood beside the altar. Four more angels stood along either wall, two to a side, and the sixth waited at the foyer, and had watched Oliver as he passed.

After Oliver had knelt, Jordan nodded to the sentry waiting at the foyer. "Bring the witness," he said.

The other angel nodded, then became a blur of white that disappeared straight up through the ceiling. Moments later, he returned carrying a very thick, very large scrapbook. Walking to Jordan, he handed him the volume solemnly, then returned to his post.

The scrapbook was eighteen inches wide, twenty-four inches long and almost five inches thick. On its cover was a name: Oliver O'Toole. Jordan smiled and laid one hand on the cover of the book. "And in Your book they all were written, the days fashioned for me, when as yet there were none of them," he quoted. The angel rested the scrapbook on the podium next to the altar and carefully opened it to a page almost exactly halfway through the volume.

The page was a deep one, and illustrated a man of faith, a man who would honor a covenant even when it hurt. Jordan nodded agreement to the Witness, remembering many long painful nights of grief and the sting of betrayal. He turned the page and smiled. This, on the other hand, was his favorite page, the page where Oliver had started to become human again. Among several handwritten letters was one very simple letter written in crayon, it was the heart of a child crying out to God and signed "Crackers". "Take care of your little letter writer," Jordan whispered to himself, remembering the day.

Turning to the next page, he skimmed the contents quickly and smiled once more. "This is the page where two stories become one." Jordan stepped back, waiting, knowing what Oliver was going to do next.

Oliver leaned forward, letting his forehead rest on the altar. "I know what it means to be impetuous," he prayed. "I made a decision once based on desire and not wisdom." Shaking his head slowly, he exhaled a very long, slow breath until the sting of tears went away. "I have no desire to repeat folly. I need your help, Lord" he said. "Your word says that "if any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask of God who gives to all liberally." I need your wisdom to make the right decision."

Closing his eyes, Oliver let his weight settle onto knees and heels, then rummaged through the breast pocket of his jacket. The box was small, black, and stamped with bold letters that read Trice Jewelers. After taking a very deep breath he held it and then set the box on the altar. "This is my offering. I know what I want to do with this, but I would like a second opinion."

Seven angels, all familiar with God's peculiar sense of humor, looked up and smiled when they heard the laughter. Jordan Marley looked back down at the scrapbook, then carefully picked up the blossom that waited on the page where two stories become one. The flower had three green sepal leaves and three bright white petals. "I know you," he said to the blossom. "A seed, even a very delicate seed, can split a boulder apart if planted in just the right place at just the right time. You were planted into the stony heart of a man of faith while he waited next to a coffee cart. You are the beauty that cracked open the boulder that was Oliver's heart. You are trillium-grandiflorum-of the family Melanthiaceae-blonde, a perennial, native to North America. You are the trillium that opened a man's heart that he might love once more. Hello Shane." Then Jordan closed the scrapbook and leaned down to whisper in Oliver's ear.

Oliver O'Toole's eyes popped open when he heard a still small voice whisper, "A wise and understanding wife is a blessing from the Lord." Then he gasped loudly and fell backward onto his rear when he saw the navy blue pot next to the altar. The green stem had blossomed suddenly, with three green sepal leaves and three bright white petals. It was a trillium, member of the lily family. Where the crocus declared the end of winter, the trillium declared that spring had begun.


	2. Chapter 2

It was a simple A-4 envelope. A common size for invitations and cards. Oliver had seen thousands of them over the years. Or more. This one wasn't soiled or torn or bent in odd ways, it was so very unremarkable in every way except one, and that one way had transfixed him.

It just lay there in the basket and stared back at him with something that almost felt like accusation.

Oliver took half a step away from the basket as if to escape the shock that had stunned him. He couldn't stop blinking, couldn't quite breathe right and didn't know why. It was just an envelope, but this envelope was the last thing in the world he expected to see first thing in the morning. Ludicrous, since he was lead Postable in the Dead Letter Office.

"No," he said flatly, choosing to believe that the envelope was not real.

"Good morning Oliver," Shane's voice called from the door.

Oliver's stunned disbelief fled in a quickened heartbeat, then faster than a cobra could strike he swept up the envelope from the UNDELIVERABLE – PARIS basket and slipped it into his jacket pocket.

"Are you alright?" Shane asked as she raised up on tippie-toes to give him a kiss. "You look odd. Even for you?"

"Fine," he replied.

The single word sounded pinched in her ears and drew a frown. "Olivier?" Shane asked, tenderly holding his face with her two hands. "What's up?"

When Shane had returned from her absence, she had returned with a secret power that had caught him off-guard; the ability to melt his heart with her eyes. She used that secret power now, and he smiled. "I have a lot on my mind today," he said softly, slipping his arms around her. "I am having lunch with dad. Hopefully I will be able to explain after."

"Your dad? Can I go?"

The envelope in his jacket pocket turned a sharp edge that poked deep and made him wince. "Unfortunately, not this time. Dad and I have a couple of matters to discuss."

"Ok," she answered, twisting her lips in a very Shane sort of way. "I'll just wait then.

Papa Joe was already at the Mailbox Grille when Oliver pushed the door open and sat down at his table. Ramon carefully set a cold beer in front of Joe and then stood waiting. "Oviler?" he asked.

"Yes please." Oliver watched Ramon make his way to the bar.

"Son, you don't look so good," Papa Joe said.

Oliver pulled the envelop from his pocket and slid it across the table to his dad. "That showed up in the basket of undeliverable mail this morning. From Paris."

"Paris?" Papa Joe grimaced. "The return address says, "Holly", so why is it addressed to me? I never met Holly."

"I don't have an answer to that. But, it was deliberately mailed without postage so that it would for sure and find its way to the DLO."

"The DLO and you."

"Exactly."

"Here," Joe said, sliding the envelope back. "I don't want it."

"I cannot open that. It is addressed to you, dad."

"Who is Holly?" Ramon asked, looking over Oliver's shoulder as he set a glass of wine in front of him. "Does the lovely Shane know you receive mail from strange women?"

"There is none stranger," Joe smiled.

"I didn't receive it," Oliver said. "It is addressed to Joseph O'Toole."

"How did she know my address anyway?" Joe asked. Oliver sipped wine and shook his head. Papa Joe slipped a Buck Knife from his pocket and flicked the blade open, then slit the envelope. On the front of the card inside was an illustration of a sparrow surrounded by a large red heart, Oliver saw that much and flinched. He watched his dad's eyes as they scanned the inside. "It's in French," Joe said.

"Ah," Ramon gasped. "As it turns out, I read French." Joe handed him the card. Ramon read the card and smiled. "Oh, that Holly." he handed the card back to Joe. Papa Joe put the card back in the envelope and stared at Oliver. Waiting.

Several minutes passed with no one saying anything. Ramon whistled softly while twiddling his thumbs together and Papa Joe stared at his son, smiling at the way he fidgeted in his chair.

"Ok," Oliver said finally. "What does it say?"

"Are you sure you want to know? You can't un-know what you know when you know it."

"Is he sweating?" Ramon asked.

"Outside, no. Inside, probably," Joe said. He removed the card and handed it back to Ramon. "Read it for him."

"Ah," Ramon said dramatically. "There is a poem. Oh my, it is a haiku. No, no," he corrected himself. "There are too many syllables. It is a limerick." Ramon rolled his eyes. "A French limerick."

"Just read it," Oliver said.

""The sparrow flies all around

Eating worms from the ground

You might think this is a bore

But this little bird I adore

Because his sweet heart is so sound."

"C'est la vie," Ramon smiled.

Papa Joe grimaced. "She is – ." Joe stopped, unable to find the right word.

Oliver laughed. "She is Holly."

"Holly leaves are poisonous and can cause intestinal problems and great distress," Ramon said.

"Not to mention heartbreak," Oliver added.

"On the second page is a note to you, Oviler. And a blessing. Miss Holly says that she wants to share a secret with you. Apparently, the last night she was here and the two of you had wine at the Hotel where she stayed, she noticed Ms McInerney standing outside on the sidewalk, watching you both through the window just before you kissed her goodbye. She said that she was worried about you in her own distracted sort of way. But when she saw your blonde colleague snooping on you, she knew that you were going to be all right. She also says that she had a dream that you got married and thinks you should marry the blonde. The blessing she gives you is, "His eye is on the sparrow, I know He watches you, Ollie. May you be blessed with all the happiness in the world.""

"So why now, Oliver? Why did she send this now?" Joe asked.

"I have no idea dad."

"So this is why you called me yesterday for lunch?"

"Oh no," Oliver said. "This card arrived this morning out of the blue. This is why I called." He fished in his jacket pocket then set the black box on the table between them.

Joe raised an eyebrow at the gold letters that read Trice Jewelers. "Ramon," he said softly. "I need another beer here."

"I think that I will join you," Ramon answered. "Oviler? Another wine?"

"No, I'm good now."

"Dad, I went to church last night and asked God for wisdom. He showed me a trillium."

"Trillium?"

"You know, small white flower, member of the lily family."

"Lily?"

"Yes lily, like, "Like a lily among thorns, so is my love among the daughters." Song of Solomon. The Bible."

"Bible." Papa Joe was grinning now. "So, you asked God for His advice and He showed you a flower."

"Dad, the job of husbandman is a very noble calling worthy to be taken seriously."

"Husbandman. Oliver are you ready to be a gardener again? Wait!" Joe blurted suddenly and sat straight up, thumping both palms on the table. "You haven't forgotten how to – uh – garden have you?"

"DAD! I remember how to garden."

"I thought I knew how to garden too. Then my girlfriend ran off with a fertilizer salesman."

"Oviler, I have vast collection of hot, Latin music to inspire gardening. It is at your disposal."

Oliver leaned back in his chair and laughed. "Gardening is not a problem."

"Then what is?"

"Dad, I just wanted to see your reaction."

"You don't need my approval, Oliver."

"But I want it."

Pap Joe smiled. "I thought Shane was perfect for you some time back." Joe slid the envelope back across the table to his son. "Maybe you should keep that," he said.

Oliver frowned. "No. That page of my life has turned."

"I know you keep old letters, son. That card is no less valuable because the page has been turned. Keep it."


End file.
